


Give Me Artemis

by Florentine



Series: From now on, everything has to be about Steven [3]
Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Autistic Volleyball, Baby Steven Universe, F/F, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Neopronouns, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Pearl, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26953528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Florentine/pseuds/Florentine
Summary: There's a new person in Penelope's dance class.
Relationships: Blue Diamond's Pearl/Yellow Diamond's Pearl (Steven Universe), Pearl/Pink Diamond’s Original Pearl | Volleyball
Series: From now on, everything has to be about Steven [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1945915
Comments: 23
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another "Pearl is a stressed college mom" fic!  
> Penelope is Volleyball's name here, and Ronnie (mentioned later on) is Pink Diamond.

_ 10:00 AM – Ballet Fundamentals _

Penelope is there at 9:30 sharp, slippers in one hand and tights-and-leotard in the other. She isn’t  _ supposed  _ to be taking this class, technically, and she doubts she’ll be able to take another like it any time soon; she has to make the most of it while she’s here and that starts with getting there early to meet her classmates! There’s simply no  _ time  _ or  _ space  _ to talk to anybody in her other classes––and she can tell the stuffy business students aren’t very interested in her, anyway. 

Ballet will be different. She’s  _ good  _ at it, she  _ enjoys  _ it, and she spent 67 cents of the loose change she’s been collecting in an old candle jar to buy a bunch of plain black elastics and another 43 on bobby pins  _ just in case anybody needs one.  _ In a class of––she checked before, she wanted to know  _ everything _ ––twenty-three minus her that makes twenty-two different people, there has to be somebody who needs an extra. And asking for an extra means starting a  _ conversation.  _ Conversation means friends. Friends  _ her age!  _ Friends she can invite over to her dorm that’s all her own, stay up late with, who aren’t closer to each other than they are to her, they can paint each other’s nails! 

Invigorated, she practically skips into the athletics centre and the changing room beyond.

...She’s reminded, as her chirped  _ hi I’m Penelope I’m a freshman I’m staying in Key I have extras if anybody needs them by the way!  _ goes almost unnoticed, that Delmarva University is a  _ local  _ college. These girls know each other already. They went to high school together while Penelope flipped through ancient textbooks over a dinner she wouldn’t eat. She can  _ tell,  _ as they very politely wave off her offer and return to their talks about high school and plans and boys, that she isn’t welcome. 

Only one elastic is taken from the package. The black bobby pins stand out harshly against her auburn, holding in her flyaway curls.

It’s 10:13, well into their warmups, second plié  _ one  _ two three four  _ one  _ two three four to the plinky plunky piano music, when she hears a flurry from the entrance. There’s the soft slip of ballet flats against the hardwood, an “I’m so sorry I’m late, I––I emailed you, about…” Oh, and there’s the “about” from their email: a little snuffly...um… She simply  _ has  _ to turn her head, out of form as it may be, to see. 

_ Goodness.  _

It’s the eyes first, a brighter baby blue than she’s ever seen on a real person. They’re hanging 2 AM-tired under flaming red hair, tipped by the dusty pink remnants of some old dye job. And  _ that  _ sits over a face that looks like it hasn’t slept or eaten a proper meal in a decade, thin lips whispering apologies and harried explanations, and Penelope has the insane urge to  _ cup  _ those cheeks and tell them not to apologise anymore even before she knows for  _ what _ . Her eye drifts downward; oh, they’re already dressed, though their leotard hangs a little loosely over an already-thin frame. In one toned arm, there’s some plastic-wooden jumble of joints––on the other, a  _ tattoo(!)  _ of a rose––and  _ in _ the other, a baby, rubbing at its own face with sleepy chubby hands. 

She freezes mid-plié before she can stop herself to stare. A baby. Aren’t they too young for a baby? And in the arms of easily the most breathtakingly gorgeous person Penelope has ever seen.

They’re setting up the wood and plastic joint-y thing (a playpen!) when she’s snapped back to attention. Rond de jambes.  _ One  _ two,  _ one  _ two,  _ one  _ two. She hears shushing, a tiny kiss, a baby being gently set on the floor; it sniffles and whines. Someone new stands behind her. 

Turn for the right foot. 

And now she’s staring right at them,  _ oh.  _ A silly part of her wants to offer an elastic, even though she can  _ see  _ where the hair had once been shaved and has now been allowed to grow––it’s short short short and she wants to run her fingers through it top to bottom. 

Speaking at the barre is bad form, she’s well aware. She still takes the chance, rond de jambe turning a flirty angle, to whisper to the person in front of her. “She’s adorable.” 

It’s like speaking static. The head in front of her does not turn. Not even a flinch. 

“...What’s her name?” 

Her classmate turns just enough for Penelope to see a sliver of an eye. “What?”  _ Oh, goodness, their voice is so  _ mesmerising,  _ all sleep-rough and lovely.  _

“Your baby!” Her next rond de jambe points intentionally towards the playpen in the corner. She can see it fully, now, where the baby who  _ can’t  _ even be a year old gnaws on its blanket. The little ball of babbles couldn’t be more different from its––she assumes––parent: where they’re gaunt and ropy, the baby is round and rosy. 

“Oh.”  _ One  _ two.  _ One  _ two.  _ One  _ two. 

Her new classmate seems too tired to finish the answer, so Penelope takes it upon herself to prod. “What’s her name?” 

If she didn’t know better, she might call the sigh she gets in return world-weary. She  _ does  _ know better, and she can sense the annoyance radiating into her. Her circle stutters. “...Steven.” 

Dégagés. One, two, three, four.

“Steven!” she repeats, trying to force a smile into the conversation. “He’s  _ adorable.  _ So much hair! Right?” No answer. She can see the other’s hand white-knuckling the barre. “How old is he?” 

“Eight months.” It’s clipped. 

She whistles low the way she’s seen people in movies do at big news. “Wow. He’s pretty big, huh? ––I mean, he’s growing up!” 

Turn again for the left foot. Now she’s facing a tight bun with iron-straight hair. This girl, from what she gathered in the changing room, is named Erin, she went to high school with the blonde bun and the blue leotard, her boyfriend Jesse attends Wisconsohio State, she’s worried about how they’ll do long distance, and she’s getting iced coffee after class if anybody-her-friends-only-is-implied wants to join. She would rather be facing the newcomer. She wonders if they’re judging how untamable her own bun is.

There’s no answer from behind her, just the soft slide of slipper against wood. Fast dégagé. One-a-two-a-three-a-four. One-a-two-a-three-a-four. One-a-two––

Steven is crying. Not the loud baby scream that could pierce an eardrum, but a muffled and distressed sound.

The movement in front of her stutters and stops. There’s something mumbled enough to sound almost like a curse. Her new barre partner runs an exhausted hand over an even-more-exhausted face as they walk towards the playpen, crouching and whispering something soothing as they go. The poor thing, he’s gone from chewing on his blanket to gnawing the playpen, dribbling drool all over himself, and sobbing the whole while. Penelope’s classmate pulls him away gently; she can see one chubby hand go to his cheek and the other grabbing clumsily at his ear.  _ Oh,  _ he’s  _ teething.  _ Does her classmate know?

She wants to ask. They’re all the way across the room, though, and the instructor has called them all away from the barre to begin explaining grand jetés. Then it’s practice, and then arabesque, and then she’s quite forgotten what she wanted to ask in the first place.

It isn’t until the end of class, as she’s slipping shorts on over her tights and removing her leotard with a careful intentionality, listening in on Erin and blue-leotard, that her classmate returns to her attention. Of all the bench spots to take up, they picked the spot  _ right next to hers.  _ Suddenly, plans she isn’t a part of don’t matter so much. Is she staring? She’s never been good about not staring. 

Their preparation is minimal: they exchange slippers for work boots and shrug a cardigan over their dance clothes. This close, practically face-to-face, she can see a birthmark right in the middle of their forehead. (She wants to kiss it.) Steven hasn’t stopped crying, but he’s quieted; he’s gnawing his blanket again and hiding his sobs in the soft pink material. Right––right, his teething! “Oh-!”

Her classmate stands. As they do, they use one arm to lift Steven and the other hand to push up. That hand, undernails dirty with something black,  _ it sits right atop Penelope’s hand  _ and she can feel callouses and strength. Any words she had die in her throat.

The pair are gone as quickly as they appeared. 

...She can still feel the hand over hers.

* * *

_ 6:00 – Call Mother. Take Clozapine. _

Penelope learns three things from her call to Yellow’s dorm. First, that her classmate’s name is Pearl (and what a flutter that sends through her, what a beautiful name!). Second, that  _ ze,  _ what a novel pronoun, was big news around campus the semester before, dropped off the face of the earth in the middle of it and then came back two months later with a baby ze  _ definitely  _ hadn’t been pregnant with––and goodness, what a scandal there was about who the parents were! “My guess,” Yellow had drawled in that way where Penelope could picture her lounging across her candy striped bed, “is Rose Quartz. ...Shoot, right, you weren’t there–– _ ugh.  _ She was  _ insufferable _ . You would’ve liked her.” She remembers a nudge from Blue on the other end, a  _ be nice!  _ she could only just hear; she remembers teasing Yellow right back about how  _ insufferable  _ to her meant  _ interesting  _ to everyone else. “Whatever! I think it was Rose Quartz. I don’t know who the dad was, but...probably not Pearl, right?”

“I think it was that boy living out of his van,” Blue had chimed in. 

“ _ I  _ think it was a professor. Penny, you don’t have Wright, do you? English? He’s old as dirt but I see him looking at––” 

“Yellow.” 

“ _ Point is,  _ it’s not Pearl’s.”

Penelope had hummed as she twirled the phone cord around her fingers, weaving in and out, in and out. “I think  _ ze  _ is...mmh, is it mean to say ze looks tired?” A hum in the negative. “I don’t think ze knows that hir baby’s  _ teething.  _ Poor  _ baby,  _ he was crying for the whole class!” 

The third thing she learned was that it is 6:00 and she needs to call her mother before she gets in trouble again, and then maybe they can meet up for dinner? Right. Right, right, right. She laughs it off with a lilting chirrup ( _ “Penelope, are you okay?” _ ) and hangs up a little too quickly. 

Call your mother.

Her fingers fumble across the plain white dial four times before she gets the number right. One one seven three––no, one one seven six nine––no. She hopes, hopes, almost  _ prays  _ that there’s no answer.

The first ring doesn’t even finish.

Penelope muffles her jittery sigh by pressing it through her nose. “Hello, Mother.” 

“Have you been going to your classes?”

No pleasantries, ever. She’s come to expect it. “Yes, ma’am.” Her fingers still twirl anxiously around the phone cord, in out in out in out, kind of like knitting. She’s staring at her nightstand. It’s bare, it’s so bare, her entire room is so  _ bare,  _ her eye flicks to the candle jar four dollars and seventeen cents now is that enough to get a poster or something? She never got to have posters at home. Her bedspread is pure white and she hates looking at it.

“Which ones?”

Lying by omission is not lying. Ronnie taught her that. “Introduction to Marketing. From, from 3 to––” 

“Don’t stutter.” 

“I’m sorry. From 3 to 4:30.” Breathe. “It’s only syllabus week. We haven’t done––”

“What else?” 

Breathe. Breathe, breathe. There’s no way she can know. The school isn’t allowed to tell parents about stuff! Right? She doesn’t know. She’s prying and prodding and she doesn’t know. “I...went to lunch? They have a nice––”

“Have you been taking your medication?”

Her eye drifts to the small orange bottle on the desk, right next to a paper cup of water she got from the lounge. Eugh. Those icky off-white little things always stick to her tongue and just make her so  _ tired.  _ “Yes, ma’am.” She supposes it’s better than...whatever they’re warding off. Schizophrenia, was that it? She can’t remember. The doctor had mostly spoken to her mother.

“Twice a day, yes?” The tone is so sickly-sweet, it makes something in her stomach curdle. It always does. Ronnie said she felt the same, that was why she left. “The doctor is refilling them on  _ Monday, dear,  _ and you know he’ll want the old container back.” 

“Yes, ma’am.”   
Something on the other line settles, like her mother is taking a perfectly-postured seat in one of her pristine white chairs. One time Penelope got in trouble for sitting on those with outdoor clothes. “You’re enjoying your classes, aren’t you? I remember taking marketing courses when I was young. They were so _invigorating.”_ Everything in her mother’s house is as white white white as the ceiling she’s fixed her gaze on. Brighter. She can picture those hospital white teeth clicking right behind the receiver. “Difficult, I suppose, for some people, but _I_ never struggled with them. Are you, Penelope?” 

“No, ma’am.” That’s a real lie.

“I hope you aren’t. I would  _ hate  _ to have to bring you back home.” 

Her mind drifts, wanders, to more pleasant places, the way she’s learned to do when her mother talks over her. She thinks about ballet. About Steven. About  _ Pearl,  _ and the way hir hand felt on Penelope’s own. 

“And I would certainly hate to hear that you’ve  _ failed  _ any classes. What a terrible waste of my money that would be.” 

Strong hands. Calloused hands. Penelope imagines that one is holding her own right now. Calloused, strong, warm, she’s seen how gentle they are with a baby. A strong hand in her hair, brushing through the curls with a practised ease. Cupping the back of her head like she’s the most precious thing Pearl has ever held.

“Your education is  _ costing  _ me, you know.”

“I know, ma’am.” 

“Do you know how much your tuition is?  _ Eleven thousand dollars a semester. _ Are you going to make me waste it the way your sister did?”

Pearl’s hands holding her around the waist. Ze could lift her so  _ effortlessly _ . Pearl en pointe, Penelope airborne, a spotlight on them they’re in a  _ real  _ production, strong strong arms lifting her, setting her down gently before twirling her into a delicate pirouette. It’s  _ Swan Lake,  _ she’s decided.

“You’ll need to make it up to me when you come home for a break.” 

Pearl’s hands on her  _ thighs–– _

“When is your next break?”

“Oh. Um.” Oops. “I––I’m sorry, I don’t––” 

“Find out.” 

“...Yes, ma’am.” 

“And Penelope?” A hiss of a sigh from the other end; she can hear the  _ tut tut  _ even without her mother making a noise. “Don’t eat too much at dinner. You know what they say about the freshman fifteen. You––” there’s a snipe of a laugh, “––can’t afford that. You were already starting to look a little chubby when you left.”

She’s going to break the cord with how tightly she’s woven it between her fingers. They’re starting to turn red. “Yes ma’am.” 

“Take your medicine, Penelope.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” A deep breath through her nose. Her fingers tighten the cord further. She can’t feel the tips of them anymore. “...I love y––”

A dial tone. 

...Going to dinner with Yellow and Blue doesn’t sound so appealing anymore. Dinner at all doesn’t, actually, so she’ll skip again tonight, have daydreams instead. She’ll think about Pearl and Steven and how lucky that child is to have someone who cares so much for him. They probably go home and Pearl feeds him baby food ze made hirself and sings him to sleep so ze can do hir homework. She’ll picture herself as part of that until her mother’s voice leaves her head. She would be a good babysitter, she’s sure of it. 

…

Bullseye is open until 10 PM. She has just enough for a teething toy. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

_ 12:00 PM –– Business Calculus _

Penelope shifts the teething ring from one hand to the other. It’s _too cold_ for her hands; she knows that the longer she holds it, the warmer it will get, and then it won’t be any use at all _._ She has to deliver it before it _isn’t_ kept-under-someone’s-ice-cream-in-the-communal-freezer cold anymore. Her leg bounces fast enough that she can imagine herself taking off like a rocket. 

“Hey.” Yellow’s side shifts to lean against Penelope’s own, comforting. “ _ Relax.  _ Ze’s always here early.” 

“But what if ze’s  _ late! _ ” 

A shrug; one hand rests over her own, then pulls away with a hiss of  _ cold!  _ “Then ze’s late. We’ll try again on Monday.” She can’t miss the clench of Yellow’s jaw that says she’s  _ just  _ as nervous as Penelope is. “Ze’ll love the toy. God,  _ I’ll  _ love that toy if it shuts that baby up.” ...A glance at Penelope, all pleading eye and  _ aaand?  _ indicated but not said, and Yellow softens. “And anybody would love to go out with you. Just do what we talked about.” 

Right,  _ what they’d talked about.  _ That means all of Yellow’s tips (“you should wear a little makeup,  _ god  _ Penny I  _ know  _ you’re not allowed but it’s  _ college _ and I have some pink lipstick so come here”), all of Blue’s ideas (“just  _ ask,  _ I’m sure ze would appreciate the honesty”), and everything she’d read in  _ Renegade’s  _ “Six Hot Tips for Asking Out Your Dream Guy!” with the pronouns switched in her head. Start with dropping  _ a serious hint.  _ What counts as serious? 

Yellow’s watch says it’s 11:56 and class starts at  _ noon,  _ where  _ is  _ ze? 

Penelope’s leg is getting tired. She switches to bouncing the other. And the toy is leaving icky condensation all over her hand. 

“What’s a serious hint?”

“You know.” One perfectly-manicured hand waves vaguely above Yellow’s head. “‘This movie just came out and I’ve been  _ dying  _ to see it.’ Stuff like that.” 

“I don’t know any movies coming out.” 

“Then a restaurant you want to go to.” 

“I don’t  _ know  _ any––” 

“ _ On the Bay. _ It’s seafood.” 

“ _ Every  _ restaurant is seafood.”

“Hush.” Yellow’s shoulder shifts against Penelope’s again, a gentle, teasing nudge. Then, with a pointed breath, she straightens up entirely. “Here’s your chance.” 

Oh,  _ there  _ ze is. 

Pearl looks different out of ballet clothes––different in a breath-stealing way. Hir  _ DU Fencing Captain 2000-01  _ tank top hangs loosely over no-I’m-not-hungry ribs, the fabric stained with some unidentifiable baby something; hir jeans, a concession towards appearing halfway put-together, are ripped over one knee and oil-stained on the other. And hir  _ boots,  _ thick leather combat ones, and if Penelope had ever wondered about their  _ compatibility  _ then those fears have been assuaged. Today, Steven chews unhappily on a raggedy pink lion, minus one button eye. Poor thing. 

“Pearl!” 

The moment Pearl enters her view, all her careful planning––the “I definitely didn’t know your name before” introduction, the smooth “you got here 15 minutes early and we have time to do some small talk,” even the careful presentation of the teething toy––goes out the window. Penelope waves wildly with her free hand, tones it down at the not-even-a-voice echo of her mother, and feels Yellow nudge into her side with a hissed “the  _ plan! _ ” Pearl looks towards the two of them with a tired surprise; Penelope can  _ see  _ hir trying to figure out where they’d met before. “Pearl, hi, it’s me!” 

Ze just looks so  _ tired.  _ Rushed and tired. There’s something in the way ze lifts a hand to hir head, the way hir eyes drift along Penelope’s face, searching;  _ do I know you?  _

Her smile widens and her toes curl in her shoes. “Hi! Hi, um, I––well,  _ first––”  _ What does she say? What were those  _ Renegade  _ tips again? “Buy him a drink” was  _ one  _ but that doesn’t seem to fit here, and neither does “invite him on a group date,” and she’s just  _ forgotten  _ her words entirely and stumbles over cheerful syllables when Yellow steps blessedly in. 

“Pearl, right? We have Hayden, like,  _ now? _ ” There’s a slow nod. Hir gaze flicks between the two of them and Steven. One thin hand brushes a baby-thin curl out of his wet pink face. “ _ This  _ is my friend Penelope (“hi!”) and she said you two have ballet together.”

“Oh.” The words don’t seem to mean anything for a long moment, every thought slogging through baby clothes and schedules to reach the part of Pearl’s brain that cares. “Oh–– _right,_ hello. I’m sorry, I don’t know where my manners are.” 

“It’s okay no problem!” Penelope chirps over Pearl’s sleepy apology. 

...What was she here for.

Yellow told her once, to Blue’s ire, that Penelope’s smile can linger and unnerve. Her jaw aches with sincerity and silence as Pearl shifts minutely, clearly ready to leave,  _ uncomfortable  _ with Penelope’s presence. What was she  _ here for.  _ Now that she’s looking into that lovely blue, it’s just so hard to––

Steven’s tiny hiccups remind her of the chilliness she’s holding. Right! She thrusts forward the baby-teal ring, still dripping with condensation, and Pearl startles backwards with a protective hand over the child’s head. “No, I’m––it’s a teething ring! I got it cold for him? And, I boiled it last night, and it was in a plastic bag, so it’s all...clean!” There’s another strained silence. “...He’s teething. I think. He’s––you know, chewing, a lot? And… I think this helps?” A tap of the feet. Her arm is getting tired from holding out the toy. “...For teething.” 

(By her side, she can  _ feel  _ Yellow “I Know Everything About Dating I Read All The Magazines” Kron  _ bristling. _ )

Steven makes a sound that’s almost _grateful,_ for as little as the child is certainly understanding––he looks beseechingly up at his caretaker. There’s a bit of pink fluff on his nose; Pearl wipes it off absentmindedly. “Teethi––he’s _teething.”_ The way ze says it, it’s like ze _knew_ it and _forgot_ in the midst of school and everything else a growing baby needs _._ Penelope doesn’t blame hir. In fact, there’s a touch of pity in her expression as she presses the toy a little closer. “Thank you.” Finally, ze takes it, holds it up to Steven’s lips, and the child half-shrieks with excitement. The ring goes _right_ into his mouth; the lion, forgotten, falls from his hands. Before it can hit the ground, Pearl catches it ( _“cripes!”)_ with the same effortless grace as though ze has a third hand hiding just for this. Steven seems unperturbed, content, chomping on the cool plastic with nothing but the very beginnings of teeth.

“ _ Ask, _ ” Yellow hisses in Penelope’s ear. She just can’t  _ quite  _ remember what she was planning to ask, because the way Pearl tucks the soggy lion into the sling like Steven would miss it if it were gone is so plainly endearing that it sets her heart fluttering. Ask about––oh.  _ Oh! _

“Pearl um if it isn’t––well!” She’d had all of this planned out so carefully! Why can’t she remember the words now? “III’ve been  _ dying  _ to...see that new movie!” Which movie? She can’t even grasp at a name. “So would you––”

The toll of the bell––noon, on the dot––interrupts her. Pearl groans at hir lateness; Yellow looks like she’s ready to cry for Penelope’s sake. “I’m sorry,” Pearl grinds, “I have to––”

“Of course! You––ballet?” 

She doesn’t even get an answer. Pearl is already rushing towards the school building, accompanied by happy babbling. Yellow, for her part, hasn’t run off, but Penelope can see her heel tapping anxiously and she  _ knows  _ that Yellow will take off the moment she gets a chance to. Can’t sacrifice that perfect attendance! “Meet me here after class?”

Penelope is  _ wilting.  _ “Mhm.” 

* * *

_ 2:00 –– Visit Yellow and Blue!!!!!!!!! _

The dorm carpet is filthy. Or maybe it’s just the weird ocean-y-and-dirt-brown pattern of the cheap dorm material. Penelope can see every speck of dirt-or-pattern from her vantage point dangling over the side of Blue’s bed, feet against the wall and head nearly touching the ground. It makes the blood rush in a funny way.

“I’m never going to get a date ever in my  _ whole life _ .”

“Yes, you are.” Yellow always sits like she’s posing for something. Now, she has her legs crossed, one elbow propped on the opposite knee and hand under her chin. Even in a school-issued desk chair, she looks like a model. “You just have to actually  _ ask. _ ”

Beside Penelope’s propped-up knees, Blue sits and scribbles in a worn sketchbook. On the front, she’s carefully scrawled  _ Shira “Blue” Blumenthal, Room 409  _ in delicate penmanship; Penelope drew a heart over the “i” a week ago in pencil and is more than pleased to see that it’s still there. “I don’t know how to ask.” She groans, throws her arms back, rests them palms-down on that icky carpeting––it’s like a bridge pose but lazy. “My brain doesn’t work right. I read all that  _ stuff  _ you showed me and then I  _ see  _ hir and it’s just!” Her hands flutter away from her head in a mock explosion, and one foot kicks out. “Blip! Gone!” 

“Please don’t kick me,” Blue says as she shifts away. 

“Sorry.” 

A hum. The scratching of pencil along paper resumes. Penelope wishes she could see exactly what it is...but when she watches the tilt of Blue’s nose towards Yellow, who hasn’t shifted in quite a while, she thinks she can guess. 

“I  _ don’t _ ––” she starts with a dramatic sigh, hoping to set out just the right bait to catch Yellow’s gossip, “––even know if ze  _ likes girls.”  _

Yellow doesn’t bite. Instead, she says, “Ze does,” so flippantly that Penelope almost feels silly for asking. There’s quiet. Then, Yellow sighs like holding on to everything  _ else  _ she wanted to say was just weighing her chest down so much that it  _ hurt _ , and Penelope knows that she’s caught her friend’s attention. “Ze used to spend  _ all  _ hir time with Rose, remember I told you about her?” A nod in the affirmative feels funny upside down. “And––hm.” Penelope can’t help but be jealous of Yellow’s nails, watching them drum along one perfectly-posed thigh in some thought-gathering motion; she’s always so put-together. 

(“Can you do my nails?” she asks up at Blue.

A hum. “Let me finish this first.”) 

“You didn’t hear this from  _ me,”  _ and the way Yellow looks at Penelope is strikingly similar to a cat planning its next move, “but  _ I  _ saw Pearl with a  _ ring.  _ And!” she interrupts before Penelope can shrink the way she wants to, “I  _ think  _ ze bought it for hirself.  _ Rose  _ didn’t give it to hir, I mean, she’s… You know those weird guys in Beehive with like four wives?”

“They’re polygamists,” Blue interjects. “Rose is poly _ amorous.  _ She isn’t married to them.”

“Right. That.” Yellow waves it off like the distinction hardly matters;  _ Penelope  _ puts the word in the back of her mind to look into later. Polyamorous. The way it spins in her brain has nothing to do with her hanging upside down. “My  _ point.  _ She wouldn’t propose, she has a boyfriend. And…” Something familiar in her voice falls flat. “It isn’t like they could get married anyway.” 

A final stroke of Blue’s pencil, and she sets both it and the sketchbook onto the bed. “Pink?” she guesses.

“Can you do little flowers too?” 

“Mhm.” 

Penelope sighs with exaggerated dreaminess. “I  _ love  _ having an artist friend.” 

Blue’s face is usually impassive.  _ Penelope,  _ though, has known her long enough to see the beginning of a smile. “Get up, please. I can’t do anything with you hanging like that.”

Hm. She wonders if she can do some kind of flip onto Yellow’s bed, some kind of walking off Blue’s and into the air and right onto that military lemon bedspread. It seems close enough.

Distance, though. That’s the thing.  _ Distance  _ with one eye is just sort of a suggestion, and instead of the most graceful bellyflop Delmarva University has ever seen, Penelope lands with a wholebody  _ thump  _ and only her toes hanging off the side of Yellow’s bed. “I’m okay I’m okay I’m okay!!” comes before either of them can stand fully to help her, “I’m okay!” Ow, though, her nose. 

Yellow flops back into the chair with an unhappy grunt. “ _ God,  _ Penny, you’re gonna make the people downstairs think we  _ killed  _ someone.” 

“Sorry!” There’s no sincerity in it, just a happy little chirp, as she climbs onto Blue’s half-made bed. 

“Could you pass me the-?”

“Yep!” Blue’s polishes clump on her desk, just close enough for Penelope to grab without moving too much. One bright pink (brand new, she’s never seen either of them wear it or anything like it, she  _ knows  _ that Blue bought it  _ just  _ because Penelope is  _ finally  _ out of homeschool lockdown, and for that she is grateful), one a dusty red, and––details, details, she grabs a soft green and the brightest highlighter yellow in the group. Behind her, she hears  _ and the-?  _ and picks up the thinnest paintbrush in Blue’s cup. The bristles are practically destroyed from use, but the butt of the handle is caked in nail polish splatters. All of this, she dumps next to Blue with a grin and sticks her hands out. 

“What kind of flower?”   
Roses. “Surprise me!” But actually asking for things is a little too much effort for the rest of the day.

Blue begins with nothing more than a quiet breath. Her sketchbook sits open beside her, just out of sight of Yellow but well within Penelope’s view––and it’s impossible to miss the tiny heart right next to a shade-and-light portrait of Yellow. She says nothing on it or the other four taking up the page or the countless others in the rest of the book. (She  _ can’t  _ resist a sly little smile Blue’s way and a wink-that’s-not-really-a-wink,-she-only-has-one-eye-to-do-it-with-anyway.) “Sooo,” begins Penelope, letting her hand go limp in Blue’s. “Pearl’s...single?” 

“I  _ think  _ so.” Yellow doesn’t look ready to let the gossip go. She  _ looks  _ like she’s ready to drag up every piece she can think of, bat it around for a while, and drop it only when it’s been well and truly eviscerated. “I mean... _ I  _ haven’t seen Rose around. Have you?” 

“I think she graduated.” Blue’s hands are beautifully steady. 

“I think she dumped Pearl.” There’s a vicious glee underlying Yellow’s words; Penelope can’t help but feel sorry for Pearl if that’s the truth. “I mean, god, ze looks like ze hasn’t slept  _ ever,  _ and did you know ze dropped one of hir majors? Sounds like a really bad breakup. So  _ one,  _ ze’s single, and  _ two,  _ I have a great  _ Renegade  _ article about how to pick a girl up on the rebound. Just, you know, change the pronouns.” Blue’s expression sours minutely, but Penelope can’t quite pick up why. The best she can gather is that something  _ bad  _ happened. 

“That sounds kind of mean.” The nails on her right hand are thoroughly pinked, so she pulls away to offer her left and shakes her hand to make the polish dry faster. “I don’t wanna make hir  _ feel  _ bad. I just wanna go on a  _ date. _ ”

“That’s what  _ rebounding  _ is for and it  _ works. _ ”

“How do you know? You don’t have a girlfriend,” Penelope quips.

Yellow’s face flushes. It isn’t subtle; Penelope knows _exactly_ why Yellow doesn’t have a girlfriend, and she knows why Blue doesn’t, and she knows that everyone who’s spent more than ten minutes with either of them would be able to guess that they’ve been dancing around each other since they were eight, and _she knows_ _full well_ that Yellow’s bed is perfectly made _now_ but that it hasn’t _been_ made in several days. “I’m not _looking_ for one,” is what she says instead of admitting to being shy. “I’m focused on _school._ And my mom would kill me if I focused on dating instead of class!” Blue makes some soft sound in agreement and, after a moment of tight-lipped contemplation, Penelope makes the same. 

“...I probably shouldn’t even be dating.” The left hand is done. Blue pulls the right towards her again and uncaps the green polish. “I mean––I _definitely_ shouldn’t. My mother––” Mh. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. “––One time Ronnie got in trouble for having a _boy band poster_ in her room. She was grounded for a _month._ _I’d_ never be allowed to actually _date._ ” 

(But she wonders, as she often does, what Ronnie is doing right now. Whether she has a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, like she used to whisper about. Maybe she’s even married. She wonders whether Ronnie knows where Penelope is and whether she’s going to come and get her like she promised and maybe it’s almost two years late but.)

Blue moves back to the left hand. When she speaks, her voice is soothingly conspiratorial. “...The school can’t tell her about what you’re doing, you know. It’s all private.” 

Right. 

On to the dusty red. The yellow will come last. 

Yellow drums her fingers against the desk with the same secretive energy. “ _ We  _ won’t tell.” A nod from Blue. “Penny––you can do whatever the hell you want. It’s  _ college. _ You’re not gonna get in trouble for it.” 

(The niggling doubt of privacy is always, always, always always always in the back of her mind.) 

“And––hey.  _ Hey.  _ What if––” Yellow’s fingers flare outward like she’s projecting the idea onto an imaginary movie screen. “What if we all go out  _ together?  _ Friend stuff. Blue and I would be there, and if anybody asks you can say it’s  _ friend  _ stuff. Okay? We can...” Yellow is mentally flipping through options. It has to be baby-friendly. Blue has to be able to get her cane in without issue. No go-karts with Penelope and her anti-depth-perception. Bars are out, too loud; restaurants are out, too expensive. “... _ Mini golf.  _ As friends.”

Friend stuff. She can smell Yellow’s ulterior motive––get something resembling a date with her long-time  _ objet d’amour _ ––from a mile away, but  _ goodness  _ she hardly minds it at all. As Blue puts the final little yellow touches on her nails, Penelope grins over at Yellow. 

“Okay.” Her hands are released. “Okay! A date. I’ll ask hir at ballet.”  _ Tomorrow.  _ Ballet is  _ tomorrow.  _ She has the rest of the night to prepare, at least until her call with her mother rattles her brain again. When she pulls back to examine her hands, there’s a hibiscus on each middle finger. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i DESPERATELY wanted to include yellow and blue being goofballs

**Author's Note:**

> I'm thinking of making this 2-3 parts!! As always, comments are encouraging! ;0;


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